


Moonlight

by masserect



Category: Persona 3
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masserect/pseuds/masserect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin hates some of the things Chidori wants him to do. But he can't turn her down, either. This is the one aspect of their lives they will not share with Takaya. Old fill from the now-defunct <a href="http://p3kinkmeme.livejournal.com/">Persona 3 kink meme</a>. Original prompt: <i>Jin/Chidori - the nights are cold when Takaya is out.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight

"The hell is he doing?"

It's 00:10, ten minutes past the Dark Hour, and Takaya still hasn't returned. Jin knows he can take care of himself, it's not _that_ , but he doesn't like unknown variables.

It's not _right_ when one of them just goes off without a word.

Chidori doesn't seem to care. She just stares into the distance where the Tower was, across the polished stone building of the highschool the three of them should have attended. 

Jin snorts. _Yeah. As if._

The bridge is deserted, even after the Dark Hour ends. It would be almost pleasant, if it weren't for that inconsiderate bastard. Jin spits over the railing and feels more annoyed with each passing minute. He tosses a grenade into the air and catches it again, over and over. Home made explosives. No safety devices. If he drops it, he'll be in trouble. Neither Chidori nor Takaya ever says anything about it. It's his call.

He's never dropped anything yet.

Chidori's red hair looks almost black under the moonlight, flutters and spills over her shoulders as she turns to him, eyes blank and empty as always.

"Pose for me."

He sneers. 

"The tower," she continues, and sounds a little sad. "It's gone."

Tartarus is the only thing she ever draws that actually looks like the model she's using. 'Course, Tartarus is so fucked up _already_ that it's hard to make it look weirder. Maybe that's why it appeals to her so much.

"Pose for me."

"Will you shut up?" It's not as if it would look anything like him even if he _did_. 

"Take off your shirt." She doesn't even seem to notice his complaints.

"It's cold"

"Do it." Her voice is raised in a stony command.

He doesn't have anything better to do, he tries to tell himself as he puts the grenade down and shrugs out of his jacket.

"Your shirt," Chidori reminds him, even as he drops the jacket. He takes it off in silence. The night air hits his naked skin like a shower of needles, and he shivers, folds his arms over his chest.

"Take them down. Lean against the railing and look natural."

He sighs as he glares at her, but Chidori just stares back with her cold, dark eyes.

Sighs again as he drops his arms and leans back against the freezing cold railing, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching at the chill. 

"Good," Chidori says, and actually seems content. She sharpens her pencil, scattering wood shavings on the ground, and picks up her sketchbook.

The silence is never uncomfortable, but the cold sure as hell is. Chidori seems unaffected by it; sits still and quiet, just glancing up at him, then down at her work. The hand holding the pencil is the only thing that moves. That, and her hair in the slight wind.

Jin shivers. The iron railing burns coldly against his back, shows no sign of warming up. He can't understand why she even wants to use him as a model. He doesn't look anything special. A pale, reed-thin geek, his skin almost white under the moon's light. Chidori is crazy.

But she doesn't look crazy when she draws. Intent, focused, but not crazy. Through the faint noise of the wind, he hears the sound of graphite on paper.

After several minutes, he is shaking from the cold, and there's still no sign of Takaya.

"Screw this," he says at last, when it becomes too much to bear. "I'm putting my clothes back on."

"Just one moment." Chidori stops him in his track with that voice, and he hunches his shoulders and wraps his arms around himself despite her protests.

"You have any idea how cold it is?"

She sets the sketchbook down, lays the pencil on top of it - finished at last - and stands.

"I will warm you up."

She pushes his arms down and places her hands on his chest instead. Her fingers are long and smooth and tinged with graphite dust; they leave faint traces on his skin when she moves. She plays absently with his nipples, hard from the cold, but it gives him no relief. Her hands are cold as well, and it's not until she presses her body up against his that he feels any warmth.

Chidori is breathing fast, chest rising and falling rapidly, breasts pressing against him. The moon reflects in her eyes, but behind it he sees a spark of her own light, however faint, and he knows he can't refuse her.

She actually moans when he reaches for her, one hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer; the other on her ass, fingers futilely trying to reach between her thighs through the lacy white skirt. They don't kiss. They never do. But Chidori holds his gaze while he gropes her through her clothes, while she feels him growing hard under his jeans. Her hands, trapped between them, never cease their aimless roaming over his bare chest and stomach. Not until he groans and thrusts his hips against her. Then she unzips him and he feels her cool skin down below, and it feels even colder there.

"Warm," she breathes, fingers wrapped tightly around his erection, and begins to stroke slowly, awkwardly. He slides his hands out to her hips and pushes her away, turns them around and pushes her back against the railing. At least there is something between it and her skin, even if the cold wouldn't bother her as much as it does him. Her hand slips off his dick and she pulls her skirt up in front; he kneels and runs his hands up her legs, up the thigh-high white stockings until he reaches pale, smooth flesh. Chidori only wears white, underneath as well. Her panties have a bow in front, and a small dark, moist spot below. 

Her only reaction when he runs a finger over that spot is to shift her hips a tiny little bit. She doesn't react when he pulls the panties down, either. Her shoes and anklets get in the way, and he can't get them off, so he just steps over them and Chidori lifts her legs, wraps them around his hips with the panties still locking her ankles together; holds on to the railing behind her as he angles his cock up against her and pushes.

At least there, she is warm. 

Buried fully inside, Jin works his hands in under her, supports her as he begins to thrust against her. Chidori's fingers strain as she clutches harder at the railing, arms and shoulders shaking with the effort as she thrusts back, warm and wet and slippery and tight.

He tightens his grasp on her ass and goes faster, groaning against her shoulder.

"Pain," Chidori whispers by his ear. "Hurt me, Jin."

He grits his teeth. He hates this. He kills people, sure. But _they_ are all insignificant. They're enemies. Chidori and Takaya are all he has in this world, and it's not _right_.

"Hurt me," Chidori begs, hips bucking against him, clamping down on his cock inside her.

So he does. One hand closing around her pale, slender neck, squeezing down. The other pinching and twisting her nipples through her top. 

He hates himself for this, but her ragged moan does weird things to his brain, bypassing logic and rational thought, going straight for animalistic desire. He leans down and pulls the dress down off her shoulder with his teeth, then bites at the exposed flesh, and Chidori's legs tighten around him, spiked anklets digging into his back.

" _Yes._ " Her voice is a strangled whisper. " _Yes._ "

He feels her tightening around his dick, feels her getting wetter and more slippery. It pisses him off that he can't satisfy her any other way, and before he knows it he feels his hands tighten, his fingers squeezing down harder on her supple skin. He growls against her already tooth-marked shoulder and bites down with greater force this time, slams his hips against her hard enough to shake her entire body, and Chidori whimpers and leans back over the railing, staring wide-eyed at the moon above.

Her legs shake as she comes, her anklets cut and scrape his lower back as she kicks her feet and jerks back and forth.

He comes, too, before she's done, remembering only that he arches his back - scrapes his teeth on her skin as he pulls his head back - and tightens his grasp on her throat and thrusts deep, hard, fast.

Chidori shakes with each impact, and now her hands are on his back and shoulders, freezing cold, nails raking over his skin. 

He sets her down on the ground when it's over, and pulls her close, presses her to his chest, and she lets him for a short while, before breaking free of his embrace. She pulls her panties up, heedless of the mess he left on her and in her, and he bends to retrieve his shirt and jacket. It's an excuse not to look at her, if nothing else. Though he can still see, out of the corner of his eye, how Chidori adjusts her complicated dress and picks up her bonnet - he didn't even notice when it fell off - and sets it gently on her head. 

She won't have any bruises in the morning. She's a damn paradox, full of life she doesn't even want. Still, he can't shake the memory of her soft skin, of his teeth and fingers cruelly digging in and marking it.

Jin spits over the railing of the bridge once more as he zips up his jacket, trying to get the taste of her out of his mouth. They're a fucked-up, dysfunctional family, that's for sure. 

He hears footsteps behind him, and Chidori's arm appears by his side, a folded paper in her hand. "Take this," she says, breath hot against his neck, and pushes the paper into his hand. 

He accepts it silently, and her hand falls away. 

It's as expected. The drawing is - unrecognizable. Mostly. He thinks he can see his own image, vaguely, in the complicated scribbles, but maybe that's just because he's looking for it.

He can't understand her art. But he still folds the paper neatly so he can tuck it in the inner pocket of his jacket.

Later, he'll put it in a special compartment in his case. It's not as if he'll ever look at it again, not like she expects him to keep it. But he'll still put it there, safe from harm, along with all the others.

That's the one thing in his life he will never share with Takaya.


End file.
